


Sweet Leaf

by Miso



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: "You want a hit?"





	Sweet Leaf

**Author's Note:**

> i remembered the sctv news sketch where earl tried to do the news high and this happened. :P i feel like the nsa guy watching my internet history has a lot of questions about me right now. just some fluff abt earl and floyd getting high together. technically set in the vietnam canon but Not Pivotal so ig consider this a little interlude??? idk

"Could you not smoke that right here?" Floyd grumbled, trying to read a book he'd been working on for weeks. Earl laughed softly and took a hit off the joint he'd rolled a few minutes earlier. "Like, I don't give a shit if you're gonna smoke it, but I'd prefer you not do it while I'm trying to read."

"Y'know what your problem is, Floyd?" Earl began, reclined against the couch. "You're tense. You're outta touch." He inhaled more smoke, held it for a few seconds , then exhaled slowly. "If either of us could use a joint or two, it's you. But no, you gotta be Mr. No Fun Allowed." Floyd cast a glance his way, then went back to his book. "I guarantee, this'll chill you out more than booze ever could. And it's not as bad for your liver."

"Kills brain cells."

"You smoke cigarettes, my friend." Another puff. "This isn't gonna give me lung cancer before I turn 40."

"I'm already past 40, Earl." Floyd dog eared the page of his book and shot his boyfriend a dirty, judgmental glare. "Seriously, either put it out or move."

"... You want a hit?" Earl asked, offering Floyd the joint. "I got plenty where this came from." He almost laughed at the bewildered look on Floyd's face. "You don't have to, but... I swear it'll calm your nerves."

A pause. "... Fine."

"That-a boy." Earl nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and handed Floyd the joint. "Works a lot like a cigarette. You've never gotten stoned before?"

"God, are you kidding me? If I came home reeking of pot smoke my dad would've beat my ass six ways to Sunday." Floyd sighed a little and tried to mimic Earl's actions before. Deep inhale... and that was as far as he got before he started coughing.

"Well, not a bad first try." Earl smiled lazily at him. "Try again." He watched, wide pupils and reddened eyes, as Floyd attempted to hit the joint again. This one went better. A full three seconds passed before Floyd started coughing and the smoke came billowing out of his lips and nose.

"Fuck. It stings, doll... you sure this isn't gonna kill me?"

"Nah, you're gonna be fine. Pass it back. I wanna show you something."

Floyd finished hacking up a lung and passed the joint back to Earl. He had to admit there was something kind of sexy about the whole situation. Earl never smoked. Seeing him like this was a treat- he was relaxed, calm, almost wise for once in his life. Earl took a hit off the joint, then beckoned Floyd close with a come-hither finger motion.

What Floyd had tried to ask, even as he moved closer to Earl, was "What are you doing?" He only got as far as "What are-" before Earl's lips ghosted over his, and he exhaled the smoke into his lover's mouth.

_Down, boy, down!_ Floyd had to mentally scold himself as he felt a very familiar stir in his loins. "Hold on," Earl said as soon as the moment had faded like the smoky vapor in the air. "We need some music for this." He handed Floyd the joint and idly strolled to the stereo- a fancy new one, with a cassette player, even!- and flicked through the small collection of cassettes they had accumulated. He selected one that looked pretty bootlegged. "Here. Buddy of mine gave me this. Good weed-smoking music."

Floyd shrugged and tried another hit off the joint, paying little attention to Earl as the opening notes of "Purple Haze" rang from the speakers. "It's a Hendrix tape?" he asked, after letting the smoke out of his lungs.

"Nah. He put this together listening to the radio. Just hit record whenever something got his attention." Earl settled onto the couch again and leaned back against Floyd's chest. "Gimme that. Don't be a joint hog, shit's not cool."

Floyd had to hand it to Earl- he felt pretty damn mellow. More mellow than he ever had been. They sat, back-to-chest, passing the joint back and forth until it was gone. "... Good?" Earl asked, smiling, over the soft strains of "Hotel California" in the background.

"... Not bad." Floyd smiled back, then turned his attention to the slowly-spinning ceiling fan. Slowly. Man, everything felt slow. Not in a bad way. His brain felt foggy. His movements were flowing and easy, but still slow. He only realized he'd spaced out staring at the fan when he noticed the song had gone from soft guitar trips to that solo he'd always loved.

"Want more?" Earl asked. Floyd took a moment to process that he was being spoken to. "There's more."

"... Can I overdose on this?" came the response. Maybe a bit dumbly, but god, this was a new sensation. "I... everything feels... slow."

"Yeah, that happens. But you feel good, right?"

"Yeah. Real good." Floyd smiled again, the solo in "Hotel California" fading out and giving way to "Sunshine of Your Love." "... You're right. This is... pretty groovy."

Earl laughed softly and turned onto his stomach so he wasn't looking at Floyd upside-down. "You're silly. Groovy?"

In response, Floyd shrugged again and chuckled in return. "Can't... think of a better word." It took him a moment to remember the word 'think.' "You didn't answer me."

"Nah. It's really hard to overdose on weed. You'd have to smoke more than I've ever had on me at once." Earl sat up. "So... roll another one?"

"Shit, yes. This is nice."

He wasn't sure how long they were on the couch, smoking weed and talking and just laying together, music in the background more for noise than anything, though Floyd did pick up a few pretty good tracks in there (Fleetwood Mac? Zeppelin? Santana? Nice!). All he really knew was that it was light out when they started smoking, and nearly dusk by the time they decided to call it a night. "What time is it?" Floyd eventually asked, Earl on his chest again. Warm and heavy. Hell, Floyd's entire being felt warm and heavy, in a good way. "... I'm hungry."

"Weed does that, too." Earl smiled a little and looked up at the clock, squinting through the smoky haze. "Fuck, it's like, 7:30. What sounds good for dinner?"

"... Everything."

30 dollars of Chinese takeout later, the ravenous pit in his stomach apparently filled for the time being, Floyd let out a quiet sigh as he lay back on the couch once again. He was tired, but not in the usual way he got tired. No, it wasn't like he needed to mainline caffeine into his bloodstream and hold back the urge to commit murder. It wasn't the shaking, crying, make-it-stop tired he'd get after a panic attack. It was pleasant. He just felt warm and sleepy.

"Hey." Earl nudged him lightly. "You awake?"

"Sorta."

"... Wanna not be awake?"

"Mmhm." Floyd didn't bother opening his eyes as he reached for Earl. "C'mere. You're warm."

A soft shuffling of fabric later and a warm weight settled on his chest. "... Can we do this again sometime?" Floyd asked, hoarse and drowsy. "'Cuz... 'cuz I feel great."

"Mmm. Whenever you want, handsome." Floyd's eyes still didn't open as his cheek was kissed gently. He dozed off shortly after, an arm draped over Earl's shoulders, into a deep slumber.


End file.
